PASSING NOTES.

Otago Witness, Issue 3995, 7 October 1930, Page 3

PASSING NOTES.

Even if held for no other purpose, the Imperial Conference would serve a useful purpose as a splendid gesture. It reminds the world of the existence of a gigantic misnomer—of an Empire that is not an Empire, of a Monarchy that is not a Monarchy, and of an elaborate system that nobody ever planned, but which hangs together unbreakably. We retain the old Roman name Empire because we are too lazy to change it, though the thing itself by any other name would smell more sweet. “ Empire ’’ reeks of the “ terror nominis Romani,” of predatory pro-consuls and dominating armies. Yet give me a substitute. “ The British Commonwealth of Nations ” is expressive, but cumbrous and pretentious. The name Monarchy we have kept for dear old time’s sake, scorning the new-fangled term Republic. We have reduced King to hereditary President, yet give him royal homage—and both king and people are quite content to have it so. “The trappings of a monarchy would set up an ordinary republic,” said Dr Johnson. Let us say rather that the expenses of a Republic would keep more than one Monarchy, and without recurring turmoil. Like freedom itself, the British Imperial con-

stitution has broadened down—not from precedent to precedent, but from Con ference to Conference. In the, present Conference the mother and her sons have become equal partners. The mother is merely “ prima inter pares," without pre-emptive right of either precedence or presidence. And the most significant detail in the whole proceedings was the simple initial motion:—

The proceedings of the Conference opened with Mr,,. Bennett proposing and Mr Scullin seconding that Mr Ramsay MacDonald should be chairman.

Criticism of the Education Report continues to reverberate. In an Auckland paper a writer, roundly calls its unification of educational sections a “ flattening out.” He adds: If a general were to announce to his army that in future, for reasons of economy, all military grades would be abolished, his proclamation would

be greeted with enthusiasm by the whole rank and file. His view of the situation might call for argument, and the justice of his comparison might be questioned. But there can be no doubt that' the Committee, in recommending a wholesale unification of educational administration, merely proposes to flatten it out. In fact it- took a flattened view of its subject. Now, a man to whom perspectives appear as a flat picture is doing one or both of two things. He is looking at the view through a small hole, or is gazing at it through only one eye. This interesting optical phenomenon is explained at length in a very interesting, very popular medico-legal novel by a widely-read author. Two men in a murder trial depose to having witnessed the killing through two small holes in the wall. Counsel for the Defence proved that what they saw was merely a flat moving picture. He says to the'jury:—

You may object that these men would have seen the difference between a picture and a real room.. Perhaps they would, even in that dim light—if they had looked at the scene with both eyes. But each man was looking with only one eye—through a small hole. Now, it requires the use of both eyes to distinguish between a solid object and a flat picture. To a one-eyed man there is no difference

—which is probably the reason that one-eyed artists are such accurate draughtsmen; they see the world around them as a flat picture, just as they draw it.. All this is proof positive that the Education Committee viewed the subject of its enquiry either through a small hole in the wall, or with one eye shut. There are, of course, a third and a fourth possibility: that the Committee playfully kept one eye closed, or that the Committee, educationally speaking, was monoculous.

Dear Civis, —Since we are in for mechanised music, might it not be well to give the devil his due—or something more than his due—and introduce the musical motor horn. I am told that Her Majesty the Queen has adopted a trumpet to play some suitable air in front of her car. The scheme lends itself to much invention. For instance, the Rolls Royce that has recently made its appearance in Dunedin might announce itself with selections from “ The Chocolate Soldier.” The clerical motorist might be supplied with a horn that would render the most negotiable bars of “ The Vicar of Bray.” Other tunes than “ Little Mary ” will suggest themselves to the thoughtful pedestrian ns the slogan of the medical man. You will -see that I. have but touched the fringe of a subject on which you, sir, may see fit to enlarge. Discipulus. My correspondent’s suggestions could be multiplied ad infinitum. A taxi convey-

ing ladies to the Brown House might toot to the air of “ Those Evening Bells.” The Waitati woodman conveying his manuka logs to town by motor lorry might similarly lament to the tune of “ The Lost Chord.” The Minister of Education might set his Government car to good propagandist work by a couple of bars of “ The Plough Boy.” 'The young man about town who has met his Waterloo might drive his newly-married bride on a motor honeymoon to the tune of “ Sigh no More, Ladies.” And what could be more appropriate to the wife taxi-ing home late after a night of bridge than “ Should He Upbraid.” The tuneful opening bars of “Lo! Here the Gentle Lark ” would be just the thing for the horns of a Capping Procession. And should a politician own a car, and had his motor horn a right sense of the fitness of things, it would automatically play to the well-known air of— When the bab-bab-babbling brook Goes bab-bab-babbling by. Says a writer in an Australian Weekly: The Englishman who tried to educate his countrymen to make the best of their chicken by spreadingthe report that Queen Victoria picked her bones did more for the' English than he knew. The nearer the bone the more the vitamin—though scientists have so far discovered only A. B, C, and D, and are a bit hazy about these. But they do 'know that vitamins are vital forces necessary to life. To save his fingers if not his face man invented an elaborate system of forks and spoons, and even a more elaborate system of etiquette labelled table manners.

The inventor of the table fork was thus a malefactor to his species. The knife we have always had with us since our cave days. But the knife merely reduced the meat to manageable size before the fingers and teeth were called upon to perform their accustomed tasks. Medieval knights and their fair ladies used only knife and fingers and teeth. Italian nobility in IGOO first used the fork, and delighted in the hew toy that ousted the finger bowl. The fork custom reached England shortly after Elizabeth’s day. But the East still views the new fangled instrument with disgust, and the Persians to this day call it contemptuously a “ claw.’.’ England still retains a relic of pre-fork days in the frills she puts on cutlets. These once protected the fingers. Finger-stalls would be just as useful. The universal —or almost universal—pleasure in a picnic arises not from fresh air and sunshine and companionship with nature and art. It comes straight from the fork. We are merely indulging our primeval instincts and building up primitive appetites by picking bones—the first course in the menu. Ergo, a picnic should be forkless. Otherwise it is a mere al fresco meal.

Writes a perturbed country correspondent : Dear Civis, — (1) If a man works for his parents all the best days of his life and gets just a few shillings pocket money, is he entitled to anything or any consideration on leaving home?

(2) Is there any law whereby such man could claim for wages owing, andfor how many years back could he claim? Concerned. A legal reply is difficult—my correspondent does not reveal whether he is the thrifty father or the protesting son. No lawyer can give a legal opinion without knowing what view his client desires him to take. A theological reply would be easy, but would be applicable to the father only. The law is hard upon the deserving son, and too lenient to the undeserving parent. According to English law —apart from Poor Law Statutes

there is no duty whatever on the parent to support his child. Evidently in England the Law of Nature has probably been considered sufficient to supply the motives necessary. In strictness of law it is as necessary to prove a contract in this as in most other transactions. In Scotland there is a legal obligation on parents and children to support each other if able to do so. But this obligation extends only to subsistence money. Which implies that Scotland places small trust in the aforesaid Law of Nature. My reply to the son is no contiact, no obligation; no cross, no crown.

The following newspaper cutting, sent by a Wellington correspondent, comes down to details, and revives the old problem of the impossible superlative: Schoolboys and girls are taught that such words as “unique” and “infinite cannot be used in the comparative or superlative degree. They will note with amusement that the Education Report on page 51 makes the Director-General (Mr T. B Strong) say in his evidence: “The system of educational administration in New Zealand is probably the most

unique, as it is also the most expensive in the British Empire.” Most unique ” is one of those regrettable illogicalities that are creeping into the language in spite of the New Zealand educational administration. “ Uniqueness ” is a matter of yes or no. No unique thing it more or less unique than another unique thing. A “ unique ” report is one which is the only existing specimen of its kind—the precise like of which may be sought in vain. The adjective means more than merely remarkable, or exceptional, or rare, or marvellous. “ Unique ” means the absolute limit, the lonely pre-eminence of one, unaccompanied, unsurpassed, standing in bleak solitude on the Ultima Ihule, the last promontory of the Land’s End of the crowded realm of reports. You can’t qualify or modify “unique.” A unique thing is simply unique, and there s the end of it. The only adverbs you can use before the word are such indications of your own uncertainty, as almost, perhaps, nearly, really, surelv, in some respects. But most unique’’ No, no.

Civis.